


Five Times Tarvek Sturmvoraus Fell In Love

by gisho



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: five things, love is not the same as romance, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gisho/pseuds/gisho
Summary: And four times it went horribly wrong.





	Five Times Tarvek Sturmvoraus Fell In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent whomp, written to take a break from the complicated plotting on Hundred Years Hundred More. Don't expect too much from it.

### 1.

"Tomorrow, right," Gil says to him, voice soft so it doesn't carry through the fireproofing. "We can come back and try again." 

One of them has shaky hands from the near-miss still - both of them in practice, since their hands are pressed tight together. If he let his hand slip up six centimeters Tarvek could feel for Gil's pulse, but he doesn't particularly want to let go. Nobody will look in here, under the steam pipes; even if they did, they would only think Gil was showing him the way in the dark. 

The footsteps have faded away; all that's left is the faint hiss of the steam pipes and the distsnt thrum of the engines, barely audible even here, directly above them, where sound should transmit along the envelope latitude. Maybe there are shock absorbers; he's never - "Gil. Do you think we could get into the engine room?"

There's a long, calculating pause. "Starboard Three, maybe," Gil offers. "Down from the backup ballast? Want to try it tomorrow instead?"

It will be dangerous, and it's not the sort if thing Tarvek would have proposed, ordinarily. It's Gil who has the adventurous streak, and Tarvek who follows along and does the blatant lying to cover for them and avoids the important, high-born friends he should be cultivating to take naps after supper so he can get up in the middle of the night to go crawling through the labyrinthine negative spaces of Castle Wulfenbach with a boy who doesn't know his own mother's name. He doesn't know why he does it. He doesn't know why it's so important, suddenly, that he impress Gil with his bravery for once. 

But it is. So Tarvek says, "Yes," and smiles into the darkness as Gil's hand tightens on his and pulls him along. 

It's five years later, pressed against the cold stone corner of a storage cellar in Vienna as he goes over records by phosphor-glow looking for the name _Holzfäller_ , that the revelation of _why_ hits him like an electric shock.

### 2.

Nine is too old to cry. Besides, midmoths don't live forever. Tarvek tells himself this very firmly, and when that doesn't help, he stares at the opposite wall with eyes wide open, hoping it's true that will make it impossible. 

The tears are still trickling down his cheeks, and there's a knot of misery in his chest that's trying to turn into a sob and he's being so _useless_ that the sudden pain in his hand is welcome. That works; he's bringing up a knife, uselessly, even as he swallows his scream. But if someone wanted him dead they wouldn't start with the hands. Anevka is already holding his wrist, and her other hand tightens against the broken finger, so all he can focus on is the pain. "Shallow breaths," she tells him. "Just stay still, you're a mess."

She drops his hands to dab at his face with a handkerchief. Tarvek does as he's told. It's good to know his sister will look after him, even when he's acting like a little child. 

Anevka gives his hand another squeeze as a reminder before she settles beside him on the sofa, folding her hands neatly on her lap in the polite posture that keeps them away from her dagger. "You need to practice self-control," she says, but she says it gently, and it's better than _You act like a little child_. "I won't always be there to snap you out of it."

Tarvek swallows hard, to make sure his voice will be steady. "Do you know any tricks? The one about holding your eyes open - "

" - is as useful as a toffee scalpel, I worked that out years ago. Pain works. Pinch between your fingers, like this." She demonstrates, and does it without jostling his broken finger, and Tarvek feels so pathetically grateful for the caution that he finds himself leaning toward her. For once, Anevka wraps an arm over his shoulders. Maybe that means she's sorry. 

He should spend more time with Anevka, Tarvek thinks. She's the best ally he has. 

"Come back to my lab," she says eventually. "I broke your finger, I should fix it. Don't let me get so close next time, okay?"

His - the body will still be there. But Tarvek has to get over his sentimentality. Midmoths don't live forever. It's more important to make his sister happy than hold on to what was, after all, just a pet. And besides, he tells himself, she will have used a sedative. No point dissecting something that's trying to get away. He smiles at her, and he's amazed how easy it feels.

Loving Anevka was too easy and not completely rational. The hard part is seeing the red light that means her brainstem has shut down, and keeping up the smile as he adjusts the valves that no longer serve a purpose, and the clank that used to be her mask looks over its shoulder to ask how the checkup is going. Anevka taught him well. He drops a spanner on his foot, the clank laughs, and in a few seconds he's laughing too.

### 3.

Around teatime the next day, by which point Tarvek's recovered enough that the effort of sitting up doesn't leave him exhausted, the Curators Solera show up. They breezily settle on the small portions of his bed not occupied by cat - just the one, but cats two meters long can do a magnificent sprawl - instruct him to call them Melissa and Jon, and interrogate him about the near-destruction of the hydrodynamology collection until his smoke-damaged lungs give out and he falls into a coughing fit. Then they apologize.

He tries to accept it gracefully, but the best Tarvek can do without wheezing is a sympathetic look. Jon returns it. "You did us a great favour yesterday," he says.

"Oh yes. You have the gratitude of the Immortal Library." Melissa just sounds cheerful. 

"Unlike some people."

"Holzfäller's library card has been revoked."

"Two months, for a first offense."

"Probably not the last."

His eyes dart back and forth, trying to follow the volleys. Are they doing it on purpose? Probably. "No, not at all," Tarvek mutters, trying not to rasp. He's still trying to work out how such a sweet boy grew up to be such a lout. He thinks Holzfäller is going to get himself killed someday soon, and the rest of what he thinks about Holzfäller he doesn't even tell himself. "Unless one of our professors murders him."

"As long as you don't get in the way," Melissa offers. "You don't have a job lined up after graduation, do you?" 

"Well -"

Jon this time, and they must be alternating on purpose. "We would love to have you in the Aquisitions Department."

"Or Research, if you prefer a slightly quieter life." Melissa pats his hand, and the cat's tail twitches as it yawns. Its fur is soft and smoke-grey, and really it deserves better pronouns and a name, but when Tarvek had asked the girl who brought him books didn't know. "I think you'd enjoy it here." 

He would. Here in Van Rijn's library, surrounded by like-minded colleauges who understood the value of words, he could spend a blissful lifetime fitting ideas together. There would be time and reason to write the comprehensive history of clankwork he's wanted so long to read, to go through every obscure technical notebook on their shelves, to put together strange new devices from the synthesis. He could look for the Muses - if anyone would have clues, if anyone would think it worth the effort, surely it would be Van Rijn's heirs. Tarvek wants it so badly he aches for it, a sudden throbbing pain over his heart to match the raw scrape of breath into his lungs and the tender burnt patches on his hands. 

"Thank you," he says. "But - my father isn't getting any younger, and he needs my help to administer Sturmhalten. I can't abandon my city." It's a lie. If it were only Sturmhalten, he could get himself disowned and leave it to Anevka without a qualm. 

The cat leaves at supper, but comes back afterwards, stretching invitingly beside his pillow and absently meowing. Tarvek presses his face to its smoky fur. He would have fit in here. He could have done so many little things, and been content.

It's not a year before he returns to Sturmhalten, with its horrible inadequate library and miserably awful relatives. The memory of his impossible dream fades with all the other heartches, sustained only by a regular string of interlibrary loans.

### 4.

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Uncountable parts - quite literally, Sparkwork at Van Rijn's level can't be analyzed, much less duplicated. But they fit together in ways that shouldn't be possible, and the joints of Tinka's shoulders move exactly as a human's would, as she spreads her hands and opens them, smile fixed as always. "You may," she says, and Tarvek musters a smile as he fetches his tools.

It feels wrong to unlace her gown, horribly intrusive, for all that he has permission. Undoing the casing of her forearm is worse, and Tarvek is grateful for all the practice he's had at smiling through unforgivable things. For all that this is a medical examination it feels like an assault. He touches the ball-joint at her elbow, the slim brass piston with geared ends where the brachioradialis muscle would be, the fabric wrapping of what must be an electric wire, running down to her wrist. He can see the steel rod of her skeleton, through the springs and pistons, but not reach it. Tinka holds statue-still, and Tarvek swallows. "Would you rather not be concious for this? It might induce some dysphoria." Why didn't he think of that before he took off her skin?

"I can endure it," she says, and nothing moves but the air from her speaking device. "We understand some of our own construction; I can guide your work."

Collaboration. He can bear that. 

He undoes parts one at a time, falling into a fugue as he works with reckless abandon, for all that his notes are the most meticulous he's ever taken. Tinka quietly explains the connections, the construction techniques, the function of complicated gearings he dares not dissasemble. He finds the pneumatic pump nestled beneath her left breast, the battery pile in her right, the idly whirring counterweight that still spins, without apparent cause, explaining - no. He doesn't need the autonomy; he can run Anevka's new body from the same tiny engine that will keep the circulatory system of her old one from ,collapsing. The batteries, though, those are worth duplicating. Tarvek puts everything else back in place before he has to ask Tinka to keep trying to speak while he examines her voicebox. The voice is important. He's going to do one more terrible thing. 

Forcing himself back to reality afterwards is tricky, but he remembers all the tricks Anevka taught him. He holds his breath, folds his hands together with the wrong thumb on top, and runs through the prologue of _The Fairie Queene_ until he runs out of air somewhere around the invocation of Calliope. Tinka is spinning through a set of graceful poses that must be her diagnostic routine. Tarvek watches, and the pain in his chest has nothing to do with embarassment.

He takes her hand when she finishes. She could stun him and walk away, back to the circus. He could send her away. It would only be fair. He asks, "Will you help me build her?"

One more thing to regret, later, one more spot of guilt with only how much he loved Tinka to distinguish it, and the fresh bruise every time he looks at her or listens to her stuttering voice.

### 5.

Tarvek notices when he falls in love with Agatha. He's not a child anymore. It hits him with the suddenness of a thunderbolt, as she looks him in the eye and says giving herself up to the Baron would be worth it.

It wouldn't be, and Tarvek thinks that he would die himself before he let her. The gears of the world are rearranging themselves behind his eyes; he's shivering with exhaustion and terror, thinking faster than he has in his life. 

No. There has to be an answer, there's always a way, because if there isn't Tarvek might as well have jumped off the Castle the first time love turned into a rotten mess in his hands. This is his last, best chance. He's going to win. _They're_ going to win. Two hundred years late, but the Storm King and the Lady Heterodyne will bring peace to Europa; all he has to do is hold on and fight. He'd take on the world for Agatha. This thief of bodies who's so sure of her divinity will be _easy_. 

"You're still here," Tarvek tells Agatha, and her eyes are wide and her skin is warm under his hands. "She hasn't won yet."

It has to be true. One more heartbreak would kill him. Maybe for Agatha, his life will be worth something.

\--


End file.
